Funeral March
by Peacefulsandwich
Summary: A child flops through the Undertaker's doorway. OC. English is not my first language, grammar may be very odd at times.
1. Chapter 1

**First attempt in putting OC in fanfic. May or may not end up as a Mary/Gary Sue (if you see signs of it, tell me in a review). Review and such if you are in the mood, thank you. **

**Personally I am a fail at tenses. Please keep that in mind.**

It is snowing.

There is nothing unusual about this, because this is winter in London.

There is also the fact that it has been snowing for the last few days and I have been outside during the entire length of time, without food or anything similar.

Hunger is easy to cope with. It is a human instinct, and human instincts can be easily ignored with the use of logic. I consider myself a logical person. Which basically means that if you actually think and concentrate about it, the feeling disappears.

I think the word "logic" is synonymous to the word "reason". That is nice because a reasonable person is a nice thing to be. I don't let much emotion into my daily life, but I cry about it into my pillow for no apparent reason. For example, I may press a button to kill off half the world's population (which may or may not include myself) because I know that in a few decades the planet will start failing because of the sheer amount of people on it. Most people wouldn't have done that, because they let their emotions get in the way.

However none of this is of any assistance to relieve me of my current unfortunate state.

Cold is hard to cope with. It is something your body feels. The hunger and pain in the feet are nothing compared to this.

I am walking down a street, but for some reason the shops are all closed, so I can't go in any of them. Perhaps it is because the snow is too annoying. I think I am going in circles, but I can't tell anymore.

Wait.

Did that sign say "open"?

The windows aren't lit.

I can't read the larger sign on top of it.

One part of me said that this sort of thing is the exact type of thing in which one gets muddled in and somehow dies in the end. Another immediately replied, saying that there is most likely no other place to stay, so why not push that door open? The first part of my mind said that the place looked evil. The second one replied saying that "looks" don't matter. A third interjected that maybe just pushing the door open without thinking would be the best choice in this situation. The first two were about to argue when the third part, being the part of my mind with the most authority, temporarily ordered the first two to shut the hell up and just do as it said.

So I pushed the door. I can't tell what it feels like, because my hands are numb. I don't think I will be able to play a piano afterwards.

Surprisingly the door does not open.

I pushed it again.

It stayed shut.

Then it occurred to me that it may be because the door is closed, and I should therefore twist the doorknob first, and _then_ push.

I did exactly that, the door fell open, and I stumbled into the room.

Then I collapsed onto the warm-feeling floor, which I later found out, was wooden and not very warm at all, but compared to what I have standing in previously (snow), is still quite warm.

.

"Well, what do we have here?"

The voice that spoke was hard to describe.

It laughed.

It had in it the exact sort of laughter the sadistic antagonist of a movie typically does, but somehow entirely different to it.

I looked up.

I think I saw a man with an interesting hat walk out of a coffin, which was when I shut my eyes because I thought I was hallucinating. Hallucinations are nice distractions from real life, but I don't need one right now.

I opened my eyes again. The coffin, the hat and the man are all still there. I got slightly depressed at the fact that I will have to deal with this hallucination like reality.

The floor was very comfortable. It wasn't cold. I didn't want to part from it.

I shut my eyes again. Everything else can wait.

.

I opened my eyes.

I was still on the floor, and the back of my head was aching. The floor suddenly seemed a lot colder.

Unfortunately I can still see the coffin. However the hat and the man are both gone, which is an improvement.

I stood up and rubbed my eyes. The world is tilting in ways it shouldn't.

Then I noticed that the hat and the man are not gone after all. They were both behind a desk I failed to notice until now. The hat was black, and had a long piece of cloth-ish thing extending out of its top. I can't see the man's eyes. He should try cutting his bangs.

Laughing his hard-to-describe laugh, the man turned to face me. I can't tell what he was laughing at.

"Why hello there. How may I help you?"

It didn't surprise me. Nothing can catch me by surprise. My brain thought of something polite-sounding to say.

"Hello, sir. I apologise for collapsing in your doorway." I looked behind me. I was quite sure that my clothes were wet with icy water when I came in, but the ground was all dry, so there was no point in offering to clean up.  
"I have been walking in the snow for quite a while now and went into the first store that was open, which was this one." The room seemed to be full of coffins. Odd. Maybe this person runs some sort of funeral service. Isn't that pleasant?  
"I need somewhere to stay until winter is over. Is there any place in London that is willing to take a child who can read and plays the piano?"

_Make your speech sound nice. It always gets the adults. _I tried to make a list of things I am good at. I can only think of the two I already said.

"Hmmn." Said the man.

I think he is thinking. Nice to know.

"Hmmn." He said again.

I waited.

Then his unnaturally white face grinned. His face was almost as white as his hair, which inexplicably, reached his waist. I thought this sort of hairstyle was the exact sort of thing that makes people annoyed.

"Teeheehee. I tell you what, I'll take you in myself."

I tried to keep my face emotionless when my mind screamed "What?!", though perhaps working with dead bodies isn't the worst job.

At least they don't talk.

"On one condition."

The man twisted his fingers. The nails were painted black and too long to play most instruments.

"Make me laugh.'


	2. Chapter 2

Ah, shit.

I didn't see that coming. Really, I didn't.

Both Logic and Instinct stopped functioning, and turned to look at the rest of me. The rest of me looked back at them.

"Eh…" Comedy has never been my element. I occasionally tell jokes, but only political ones, which I doubt the man here will understand.

To take matters away from this unpleasant note, I noticed a gun on the wall.

"Why is there a gun on the wall over there?"

"Ah, it came with a, client. Teeheehee, the name it was tagged with was Chekov."

"Erm, okay."

And I don't know what to do. How to make a person laugh? Usually I don't think about things like this. I rarely do any laughing myself, unless there is something interesting going on, which rarely happens.

Perhaps a tragic story. The hilarity of sad endings are never lost to me, and I like them. In tragedies, everything the main character has been working towards since the beginning of the story is destroyed, and leaves the main character either dead, insane, or in some situations, both.

"Okay. I will tell a story.'

"There was once a girl, who wanted to be a doctor, because doctors save lives. People thought she was mad, because they didn't think girls could become doctors. The girl ignored them, and continued learning the arts of healing from the local doctor who appreciated her talents.'

"One day a small child was sent to the doctor's house. He had several broken ribs and his skull was fractured, and his parents claimed it was because he fell down from somewhere. The doctor wasn't home, but the girl was. So the girl did all she could for the child, but she failed to save him. The child's parents blamed the girl for letting their child die.'

"The girl was about to be tied to a wooden stick and burned for being a witch before she made a contract with a devil, which was that the devil was to keep her alive until she avenged herself upon the child she failed to save's parents, because she suspected there was foul play behind it, and that the devil will consume her soul after she finishes with it.'

I'm making stuff up. It's actually not that bad, in my opinion.

"After some investigation the girl found out that the child was actually an orphan kidnapped by the couple who accused her of witchcraft. The couple had a hatred for her family and wanted to wipe her entire bloodline out. So the girl worked towards getting them dead first."

"But while she plotted how to kill the couple, she realised that when she completes her revenge, her soul will be devoured by the devil working for her. She didn't want to die, and became more and more withdrawn. After a while, when she was about to execute the plan she thought of that was to humiliate the couple and in the end, kill them, she saw them kissing.'

"The girl never understood what 'love' meant, but got a good hang of it after seeing the two people speaking to each other. She realised that she will miss out on all things life has to offer when she completes her revenge because she will be eaten.'

"The girl regretted her decision to wage war against these two people, so one day she cut off her left ear, which was where her contract mark with the devil was engraved on.'

"The devil was very annoyed, because it wanted its food. Because of the disappearance of the contract mark on the girl's body, it was no longer tied to the girl, and could therefore do whatever it pleased with her.'

"So it consumed her soul without her getting her revenge or becoming a doctor, which was what she wanted second most, and the couple who hated her family were very happy and lived happily ever after, while the devil lived on and the girl's soul was incinerated. The end.'

I came up with it on the spot, but I was reasonably happy with the story. It had a beginning and ending, like I thought stories should.

I looked up at the silver-haired man.

He hummed.

"I like the story and I do find it amusing." He said. "I like the fact that the girl received an ending worse than death. But it didn't make me laugh."

Double shit now. I can't think of any other stories.

Maybe something random about sponges will do. Yes, sponges. But that would sound quite dumb. So in order to make it more sophisticated, maybe I should add-

The man burst out laughing.

I didn't see that coming either. But I think I just won because he just laughed.

After his laughing fit which ended with his head on the reception desk and drool dribbling down his chin, the man looked up.

"The best stories are the ones untold. Hehehe… Call me 'Undertaker'. You can stay in the basement with the coffins, the trapdoor's on your left. It's eleven, hehe, I have clients to finish business with tomorrow… The dead bodies are over there, biscuits are the in the jar there, teacups and tealeaves are in the drawer next to me. Go make yourself comfortable."

His face fell back on the desk, still sniggering.

I didn't have anything else to say, so I found the trapdoor and opened it.

It was all dark in the basement, and I couldn't see anything. I felt a short ladder, which I climbed down. I settled myself between two slabs of what felt like wood, on a bed of unidentifiable soft material.

The space was rather cramped, but it was the most comfortable in the area.

I fell asleep. In total darkness. Alone. Pffft.

.

I actually woke up earlier than usual. There was the sound of something, growling, upstairs.

Rubbing my eyes, I tried to turn my head. I failed, because of the two wooden slabs I was squashed in between last night. So I tried sitting up. I made it with some difficulty, considering the fact that my arms were sore.

The sound continued, as I groped in the dark for the ladder, finding the ladder, and opening the trapdoor.

Light shone in, and it took me a while to adjust to it.

"Ah, there you are, teeheehee." The man who called himself Undertaker grinned. "This is Grelle Sutcliff, you'll be seeing him around, heehee. He buried me in a jar of salt once…"

Triple shit. I wasn't preparing to meet someone new. Damn, now I have to look polite too. However, before I can introduce myself, the other person spoke. He had hair styled in a way that slightly resembled the Undertaker's, but was also eye-hurting-in-ungodly-hours bright crimson. He held an odd-looking saw in his hands, which seemed to be revolving on its own, which was also the source of the noises that woke me.

"Oh look, a child." He yawned and continued to sip his tea from what looked like glass beakers.

"Wait-a child?" He asked a few seconds later, acting surprised. "Undertaker? Why is there a child in your store?"

"Well I just explained it to you, heehee."


End file.
